


In Service to the King

by Feenie_Weenie (Doitsuki)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Male Lactation, Manipulation, Mention of Past Abuse, Multi, Royalty kink, Servants, Sexual Grooming, Trauma, breasfeeding xD, consensual underage sexual activity, don't read this unless you've read Faladar, dont kinkshame me it's backstory pls, kinks etc, mention of submissive rape, uhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Feenie_Weenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Backstory of the servant characters Maeral and Gelias from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438975">Faladar</a>, a co-authored Thrandolas fic. I can't help but make deep backstories for even the most minor of characters and so here it is. If you're here for the smut, there's that too. <br/>-read with objective grains of salt-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the twentieth year in the life of Gelias when he first came across Maeral. The elder elf was thought to be almost six thousand years superior in all manners of servitude and craft. He was the designated tutor of all the young Silvan training to serve the King, who was currently one rather temperamental Thranduil. On the first day, Maeral stood beside Galion the Head of all the Royal Staff. Butler and hand to the lazy King, Galion played the part of kind and patient teacher. Maeral looked like he had better things to do, his cloudy green gaze ever locked in distant thought. Gelias observed him, his own eyes of clear spring water under a bright blue sky. Maeral was of tall height for a Silvan, his hair more brown than red and a little faded in colour. In his face were rare lines of age and wisdom, though if asked he replied with stress and words kept behind pursed lips. Thin and tight those lips were, along with his eyes squinting and square jaw clenched. Gelias was busy admiring his soft cheekbones when a click caught his attention. Galion spoke to him.

"Maeral is quite handsome, young one.... But do not let your gaze linger too long. He will pull out your eyes and wear them as earrings if you continue."

"HEEEEEH?!" Gelias gasped and sucked his entire face in as best he could, cringing away. "Aaaah, please forgive me! I don't want to lose my eyes!"

Maeral shook his head, fully braided hair not moving one inch. "Hmph."

"Anyway, let us continue." said Galion, seating himself on a long red-cushioned bench. At the end was an orange cylinder meant to be a pillow, used more frequently as a soft disciplinary tool. Galion picked it up and thumped it in one hand. "One thing you must know is of the King's fondness for hurting things. He rather enjoys penalizing disobedient servants, and has given many of us lasting scars."

A young ellon near Gelias and the others in the line raised his hand. His voice quavered like a leaf in a storm, dampened by drops of insecurity. "Has he... sent anyone to Mandos with his punishments?"

"Valar, no!" Galion's tight braids swung as he shook his head with a smile. "That was his father Oropher's favourite game. Be thankful you do not live in a prior age..." His face grew shadowed and grim, remembering past events. Maeral took this opportunity to speak dryly.

"Not to be forgotten is the particular type of sadistic treatment one can expect from the King. He enjoys humiliating us in all sorts of ways, including those we cannot speak of to you elflings." He held his majestic nose high in the air and looked down at Gelias. "It involves nudity and anguish."

"But nudity is fun!" Gilraen beside Gelias beamed brightly. "Where does the anguish come from?"

"It comes from having molten glass poured inside your body until you begin to question why you have a hole in your backside. It comes from the sting of a whip against bloodied legs, from the path of blade upon thin flesh-"

"That's enough." said Galion, gathering his wits enough to spank Maeral on the ass with the orange cushion. Maeral gasped, high and squeaky like a mouse just caught. His face flushed red with indignation and he turned aside, arms folded. Galion was his boss, after all. He could say little and do less.

"Settle down." Galion gestured to the giggling elflings, waving the cushion around. "...Unless you want a nice hard whack too? Please, be silent. We have much to explain."

The rest of the evening in the Secondary Servant's Lounge was spent discussing Thranduil's special brand of psychology and what applied to him along with his young son. By nightfall everyone had agreed that Legolas was a spoilt brat and Thranduil some form of misunderstood Jesus, listening intently to Galion's sensible wisdom. Maeral spoke more of the practical side of servitude and it was noted that all rights were relinquished when going into the King's service. Bodies and minds no longer belonged to those who were born with them. Thranduil owned all, and could do as he liked. That privilege also extended to his son, and occasionally a few foreign guests. Lords such as Elrond and Celeborn could do as they wished with Thranduil's servants, given permission by the King himself. Elrond was known to be prim and proper, a polite favourite of all the staff. Celeborn... had a few depraved tendencies that rivalled Thranduil's own. But he tasted like butter cookies and honey. At least there was that. Galion was fond of him for no other reason.

After stargazing for a few hours, the elflings went to sleep in the rooms designated to them. The older servants did not need sleep but nonetheless rested in a large pile, Maeral and Galion aside. They spoke quietly near an open window, low voices hushed. The cadence of Maeral's voice at night brought thoughts of strong oak and deep river currents to mind, while Galion's words rumbled in his throat. His silhouette moved slowly, a smooth elegance to every motion. Mingled with the darkness of Maeral's robes however were quick fingers massaging a sore spot. Maeral's head fell back against the side of the thick window, face suddenly grimacing.

"Ai... I do not think I can endure this for much longer."

"It is beyond any of our abilities to heal, mellon nîn. You must bear it... as we all do." Galion leaned forwards and brushed the tip of his nose against Maeral's in a very fond Silvan gesture. "For as long as you suffer, I will look after you. Do not fret."

 

-

 

A decade passed, and the elflings were still in training. All lingered in the spring of youth, Gelias in particular whose fair and fresh appearance raised doubts in the hearts of many.

"He is not _ready_." hissed Orviwen to Maeral, her ancient motherly instinct edging her words with anger. "How can you hand him to the King when he comes of age, knowing his innocence has been taken prior?"

"You must wait, I agree. This is not right...." Saerthil beside Orviwen nudged Maeral, knowing how he hated it. Maeral stepped away, eyes narrow.

"I cannot let the King take this one. I see in his eyes the same thing you do, do you understand?" Amongst the din of chattering servants, Maeral's harsh voice could be heard thick with resolute authority. "I know what the King does when he plucks their petals, as we all do. It is different for us ellyn. You do not know the _pain_...."

"Oh? So I know nothing of having his cold, bejewelled fingers stretching me open til I bleed, eh?" Orviwen jabbed the air before Maeral's chest.

"Not even that horrid golden stick he shoves inside, with the raised bumps on it? Not the damned pinching and the prodding and the..." Saerthil's words went over hills and into valleys as she turned her head this way and that, articulating the agony all Thranduil's consort-material servants knew. Half the entire staff were versed in the arts of pleasure, always expecting a call to serve the King in the ways he most enjoyed. They were not allowed to look tense at his side either, whether holding wine or being used as a food tray. At least he did not hurt them without reason. At least.

Maeral looked back towards Gelias, who was engaged in lively conversation with an elf some two thousand years old. Brelin the dungeon keeper loved company and was glad to have a break from standing near the empty cells all day. Thranduil had passed out for the day and Legolas had gone hunting. Now was the time to chat. Gelias however felt eyes upon him and hearing a lull in the room, turned to meet Maeral's unwavering gaze. The atmosphere had become less jovial and a sombre tone weighted what had once been a fluffy conversational blanket. A wet, sodden mood belonged to Galion in a corner with his wine. It seemed to have spread and agitated Maeral, for some reason. That was how Gelias saw it, anyway. His smile faded and he tilted his head to the left, innocently peeping at Maeral from behind a nearby elf. He could not hide however as Brelin saw him making eye contact and waved. "Maeral! Come hither, join us. You look like you could use a drink."

Maeral came and stood at a respectable distance. "Now is not the time for drinking, you fool. Haven't you any work to do?"

 _'Shit.'_ Brelin could see his superior was in a terrible mood and looked towards Galion, who wasn't even paying attention. The poor elf had his face in a large bowl of fine Dorwinion red and was drawing circles in the table with one finger. There was no help from the Boss today. Dealing with Maeral was his specialty.

"U, uhh, perhaps, but pleeeease don't make me go back and stand there! It's so terribly boring without anyone to talk to or stare at or torture..."

"Then go to sleep. I will have words with this little one." Maeral's open palm to the side showed Brelin the way out and with shoulders slumped, the younger elf went off to the pile of furs. Already a few were sleeping there and he climbed in to join them. Conversation in the nearby lounge resumed as someone closed the curtain Brelin had left open.

Gelias looked straight at Maeral, a little confronted by the object of his curiosity sitting so close. He did not know what to say. Luckily, Maeral did.

"I have come to inform you of the impending initiation trials, young one." He folded his hands atop the table, keeping his voice even. "For a month you will practice with Galion and I, and then with the Prince, who is safe for you."

"What about the King?" asked Gelias, furrowing his little dark brows. His face creased in such an adorable manner that Maeral had to clench his hands to avoid smoothing it all out.

"Not yet." Maeral pursed his thin, sculpted lips. "He will initiate you with a proper ritual into his service when you come of age."

"A.. ritual?" Nobody had talked to Gelias about this before and in all honesty he was quite frightened. "He won't drink my blood or burn my hair, will he?"

"No." The elfling's worry twisted up Maeral's hardened heart, a little pity oozing out. "He will do things that elves can do after they come of age. It will hurt, Gelias. You must be prepared. We will help you in the coming months."

Gelias put his fingers in his mouth and chewed, afraid. Maeral could not imagine grooming this innocent creature for the horror of Thranduil's whims. He stood.

"Tomorrow we begin."


	2. Chapter 2

In a private sitting room left unused for some years, Galion lay on a couch. He was draped in one of Thranduil’s robes meant for laundry, but still clean enough to wear. It had the alluring, regal musk Galion craved and getting to wear it felt so deliciously naughty. He clicked his fingers twice.

Into the room walked Gelias, dressed in gentle blue silks that drifted about his lithe form like flower petals. The light scent of lavender was upon him, and his soft blonde hair swung free by his face too short to tie up. After a pause, Galion blinked at him.

“Is… there anything you need, _my Lord_?” Gelias glanced back to the open door to see Maeral sternly watching, soon giving a stiff thumbs up.

“Some wine.” said Galion, running long fingers along the side of his exposed thigh. He wasn’t wearing pants under those robes. How lewd.

None the wiser to a thing going through Galion’s mind, the younger servant approached the table and picked up the large crystal decanter. Or at least he tried to, failing to pick up the full jug of thick red wine. He was very weak, and feared spilling the expensive liquid. Galion gestured with both hands and Gelias used one to tilt the decanter on its side, the other keeping it from falling over. The spouted tip poured a steady stream of wine into the nearby glass, thankfully positioned in the correct place. Once finished, Gelias picked it up and with grace offered it to Galion.

Galion the mere servant felt like the King himself to be served like this and was glad to have suggested the role-playing method of teaching. He took the glass and drank a mouthful, savouring the thick, sweet taste on his tongue. This was Thranduil’s own favourite. If it spilled onto his robes, the scent would not cause suspicion the next time he wore them.

“Very good.” Galion’s warm, kind smile remained his usual one and nothing like Thranduil’s haughty smirks. “Come here.”

Beaming from the praise, Gelias went around the table to stand by Galion. He looked for a sign in Galion’s face or body to tell him where to go, and saw a shifting of legs over the side of the couch. Then Galion sat up. Beside him, Gelias sank into the couch. The blonde observed Galion in silence, waiting for further instruction. His sky-blue eyes gleamed eagerly. Such willingness to serve was what kept Galion going no matter how cruel Thranduil could be to him. It pleased him to see the same enthusiasm within young Gelias. After draining his wine glass, Galion knew he would be drunk soon and took his chance to pull Gelias into a squeezy hug.

“Ah~ You’ve done so well for your first try. I’m proud of you.”

“Eeh! I-is this, is this part of the training?” Gelias squirmed a little, his cheeks flushed. He did so love a good bit of affection.

Galion nodded, putting on a lofty air for one moment. “Even us Lords enjoy a nice cuddle sometimes, especially with adorable little ones like you.”

“I’m _thirtyyyy_ , my Lord, I’m not little any more!” Gelias tried to pout but he was giggling too much to keep his lips pursed. Galion nuzzled his soft cheeks, kissing him just beneath his ear.

“Such a good little elfling you are. The King will be lucky to have you.”

That reminded Gelias of something, and in between his frantic, excitable squealing he asked Galion breathlessly, “You, you wear the King’s clothes, but you do not act as him… why?”

“I am not worthy.” said Galion, breathing out a sigh to calm himself. “None of us are.”

“You should be a Lord.” Gelias mused into Galion’s chest as he was hugged closer. “You’re so nice.”

Galion did not reply. He thought of his father’s high rank in Doriath six and a half thousand years ago, and the subsequent life of servitude under Oropher’s rule in the former Greenwood. Gelias looked up.

“Galion?”

“I’m still a Lord, remember.” Galion snapped out of his daze and smiled as perfectly as he always did. “Don’t forget… you can’t use anything other than titles when speaking to us upper class folk.”

“Yes!” Gelias’s snappy reply was then punctuated with a hasty “M-my Lord.”

In the doorway, Maeral nodded. Gelias was moving along well enough with his induction into service, with simple tasks and more intimate ones coming easily. He did however suspect Galion’s casual, lighthearted approach to training to be the cause of this, as with a legitimate noble any young servant would be intimidated on the spot. Watching Galion comb his fingers through Gelias’s hair, slurring his words a little, Maeral sighed inwardly. He did not wish to sexually groom the barely-there-with-his-body-downstairs elfling Gelias for Thranduil, but wasn’t going to let him go to the King a virgin. Maeral, if he could help it, did not want _anyone_ to experience _that_. Not even Sauron himself deserved such pain. Alright, maybe a little, but not much. Thoughts of Dark Lords and sex dungeons pervaded Maeral’s thoughts reminiscent of a nightmare he’d had last month. He did not realize Galion calling for him until a suede slipper hit his head.

“Galion what the fu-” He paused. Now it was _his_ turn to demonstrate service to a Lord. “Ah. Ahem. Did you need something?” he said in his most professional tone.

“Waow…” Astounded, Gelias’s eyes opened wide and he snuggled Galion close. The entire set of Maeral’s face had changed from being pissed and slipper-smacked to calm, collected and devilishly handsome. Galion beckoned him over.

“Close the windows then come here.” The slight chill in the room was soon mitigated by the lack of breeze, Maeral obeying his commands quickly. In long strides he crossed the room, shut the glass windows and came to sit on the couch. Galion pulled him close and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“Good boy. Would you like a biscuit?”

 _‘Oh, for the love of the stars… he had to choose the King’s strongest wine for today. Unbelievable.’_ Maeral nodded however as he did love biscuits and was pleased to find Galion hand-feeding him a crisp caramel treat.

“D-do I get one?” asked Gelias, his timid voice quavering with hope. Maeral yanked the biscuit from Galion’s hand with a gentle tug and offered the end that wasn’t in his teeth. His eyes said, _here, have some._

Blushing to the transparent tips of his precious little ears, Gelias wriggled in Galion’s grasp to nibble the end of the biscuit. Galion of course had heaps more stacked on the couch just behind his head and out of sight, but seeing Maeral and Gelias share one gave him a warm fuzzy feeling deep inside. Gelias had never been treated to one of these particular biscuits before and was surprised at how hard it was, almost like a piece of wood. Maeral was biting down on it easily, using it to sharpen his pointy Silvan teeth to fine spikes. Gelias resigned to sucking on the end to soften it enough but by then, Maeral had reached his lips and stole the last of the biscuit.

“Hey!” Gelias furrowed his brows, backing away just a tad at the sight of Maeral’s sharp teeth. Maeral’s soft lips came to hide them as he spoke.

“Forgive me, but you do not have what you have not earned.” He nudged his nose against Gelias’s. “You may have a _taste_.” With that, his tongue darted out and licked Gelias’s lips before he pressed a soft, lingering kiss there. Sweet caramel and hints of ginger tingled amongst the strange sensations, that of slick wetness and smooth warmth playing about his mouth. Gelias twisted up his face a little as it tickled quite a bit, and Maeral pulled away. He then spotted something over Gelias’s shoulder, straight down into Galion’s lap.

“Do something for me…” he murmured, capturing Gelias’s jaw in a firm but gentle grasp. “Return that wine to our quarters and bring some pants for our Lord. He seems to have forgotten them today.”

Gelias went to look but Maeral pushed him up and Galion nudged him towards the door. “Go on.” breathed Galion. So Gelias went, feeling rather strange.

Galion listened for his fading footsteps then pounced on Maeral, consuming his mouth in a hungry kiss.

“Oohmngh..” Maeral groaned and battled Galion’s fierce tongue with his own, sliding this way and that as his own arousal woke.

“We do.. not haahve long…” Galion could hardly breathe and leaned back, spreading his legs. “Please…” he gasped, lowering his eyelashes. “Serve me.”

Maeral rolled his eyes. “As you wish, _my Lord_.” He knew what got Galion off and that was being spoilt, able to indulge in his secret desires such as this one – pretending to be in a position of supreme authority. Majestic and carnal, Galion and Maeral joined there on the couch and managed to keep from soiling Thranduil’s robes in their passion. Maeral was just wiping his lips clean when Gelias came back, a little sooner than expected.

Gelias looked at the ground. “I forgot the wine.”


	3. Chapter 3

A month of training passed with different older servants playing the Noble roles for young Gelias. Lords, Ladies and even random guests needed to be attended to and Gelias learned about all that. The servants even showed him how best to move and look whilst doing certain tasks instead of sitting on their asses like Galion – who honestly meant well, despite getting a bit too into his role.

One day, Gelias woke and wandered into the Servant’s Lounge to find the usual folks milling about, along with Maeral who was alone. Approaching him, Gelias sat on the dark red couch, his feet hovering inches above the woven carpet. Maeral at first did not seem to notice him, deep in thought about the duty he’d resigned himself to. After a few minutes however he turned, casting his dull green gaze upon Gelias. It brightened just a little, but no expression came over his face. Gelias shrank, afraid.

“Whatever is the matter?” asked Maeral, gently raising his hand to stroke Gelias’s arm. Touches like these had become increasingly frequent between the two elves, and lingered for a little longer than was appropriate for colloquial Silvan behaviour. Gelias shuffled his butt on the cushion beneath him.

“I… saw you sitting alone… You looked sad.”

“Nonsense. I am not _sad_ , little one. You however look a little tired. Are you well?”

A quiet murmur passed Gelias’s lips. “Today I have to train with the Prince… I’m scared. What if he’s like his father?”

“You have not even met Thranduil yet you worry about his son. Ach, I suppose that cannot be helped with the warnings we have given you. But please, do not be frightened of him.” Maeral’s hand went up into Gelias’s unbound hair, free as he’d just woken up. Elflings needed a lot of sleep and Gelias always looked messy after a long night’s rest. Gelias exhaled a low, free moan and his eyes fluttered shut as long fingers caressed his hair. Twitches jerked his body a little when Maeral touched his ears, the curved shell blushing pink. Gelias shuddered with delight when the elder elf drew close and breathed soft words into his ear.

“I shall attend to your hair.” said Maeral, his husky voice sending shivers through the oversensitive Gelias. Turning to a nearby servant much lower in rank than himself, Maeral clicked his fingers. The elleth’s head snapped towards him, a trained response.

“Fetch me a comb and some oil.”

“What… what’s the oil for?” Gelias panted, hands knotting up the fabric of his tunic in his lap. Maeral went back to rubbing his ear, the left one around the other side of his head this time and that stopped the questions at once. In less than a minute, the elleth had brought Maeral what he’d asked for and he thanked her with a tilt of his head. When she’d gone to resume her conversation, Maeral lifted up Gelias and placed him in his lap, holding him like a mother would breastfeed a child.

“Rest here.” Maeral stroked Gelias’s hair as he applied enough pressure to encourage the elfling to put his face into the available chest. Gelias found himself enveloped by the muted musk of aged masculinity, something mature and lovely that instinctively comforted him.

Maeral poured the rose-scented oil into his hand then began working it through Gelias’s tangled hair. At the sensitive roots he massaged, sublime and sensual. Gelias moaned into his chest, his high pitched cries like that of a baby bird. Since elves had different vocalization capabilities than other humanoid species, a great range of sounds could be used to express pleasure. The subsequent peeping brought a smile to Maeral’s face.

“Do you like that?” he murmured, running the soft pads of his slick fingers down Gelias’s neck. At the base of his neck, feathery wisps of pale blonde hair were matted together then teased apart as Maeral massaged there. My, Gelias was frighteningly slender. His bones could be felt, and around his upper back there was very little fat. Barely any muscle clung to his fine skeleton yet somehow he remained in good health. Maeral decided to change that.

He rubbed the prominent bone at the back of Gelias’s neck with his well-oiled index finger, circling around the spot. It gave him and a few of the other servants quite a bit of pain, caused by too much bending and the occasional weary slouch. Gelias only had it now because he’d dipped his head forwards and his spine hinted through semi translucent, alabaster skin. By the Valar, he was _beautiful_ without a single imperfection on him. A few freckles darkened his upper back like light rain on a windowpane, dappled and unobtrusive.

“We have much to do today…” Maeral whispered in that lovely low voice of his, able to pitch deeper than usual due to the compression at his neck. Looking down like this, he could adjust his vocal ability as needed. “You will not have time for meals if you are to be ready to answer Prince Legolas’s call. He will go hunting this morning, and you must be prepared.”

“Uuuhhnnn….” Gelias was too far gone to give a damn and wriggled his pert backside around in Maeral’s lap. “Mmmm… you smell nice…” Along with the heady aromas from a lounge so often filled with food, friendship and fornication the unique scent Gelias immersed himself in was one he honestly connected with.

“…I taste nice too.” Now, Gelias looked up. What did serious, suave Maeral just say?

Maeral caressed Gelias’s cheek with his weathered palm, fingers trailing after. “Here.” Maeral undid the delicate silver clasps of his olive green tunic and stopped at his stomach. This degree of exposure was not a thing he did often in the company of others, but for Gelias it was only an innocent act of love. He did not want his little student to feel the terrible pang of hunger after a day of hard work, after all! No, nothing negative was deserved by Gelias and Maeral wished to endlessly dote upon him with treats. Gelias gazed through heavily lidded eyes at the chest bared before him. Maeral’s thick pectoral muscles beckoned to him with their dark red nipples pointing outwards. As Maeral continued his one-handed massage up into Gelias’s hair, he took his other hand to support the elfling’s sinking back. He held Gelias close and smiled down at him, pushing his own chest forth to brush an erect nipple against soft lips. The sweetest little pearly drop of white cream beaded there, bringing to mind memories in Gelias of warm blankets and loving arms. Still but a child and with no intention of refusing, Gelias pressed his lips to Maeral’s full breast and sucked. The soothing emission of thick, hot milk washed a blissful daze over Maeral, who managed somehow to remain coherent enough to look after Gelias. Gelias had closed his eyes and pressed his face in further, just enough to encourage more of what Maeral had to offer. Maeral was by no means well endowed in the chest department, but after a month of being filled with protective instincts towards Gelias, he found himself lactating profusely. As a natural born androgyne he could not help it, having experimented much in the past with the different aspects of his usually masculine body. It was common among the Silvan here in the Woodland Realm. Even Thranduil could grow a pair of breasts or female heat, but for purposes much less innocent.

Maeral began to comb through Gelias’s slick hair, easily parting the straight strands. Gelias smelt like a garden of flowers, like most young elves. Maeral found it quite endearing and dipped his head to breathe in the scent. _Ahh_ …

Long, relaxing minutes passed in the dim Servant’s Lounge where Maeral had his privacy to feed Gelias. After a while he set the comb down and nudged at Gelias to drink from his other side, adjusting his tender embrace for Gelias to settle into. Now Gelias sat at an angle, his back entirely supported by Maeral’s strong left arm. He hadn’t drank this much in a long time and his stomach felt a little bloated, looking as much the longer he suckled in bliss. The thick, filling liquid had long since put him into a daze and he cared about little else than getting _more_. He moaned quietly into Maeral’s breast as a hand came down to stroke his soft belly.

“You shall have great strength in your days to come, little one.” Maeral cooed to him, his discreet smile spreading into a genuine warmth. “Today, you will need this energy.”

Gelias kneaded Maeral’s flesh with his lips and breathed through his nose for a moment, before he looked to the ceiling and sighed.

“Mae… Maeral… I’m full…”

Before his lips a nipple twitched, and Maeral rubbed his back. “There’s a good boy…” Maeral whispered, gazing down at him affectionately. “Rest awhile with me. We have fifteen minutes.”

The passage of time meant nothing to Gelias in the minutes that he spent nuzzled up against Maeral’s soft chest. Maeral was utterly pleased with himself, leaving his tunic open awhile due to his nipples being glossy and sore. He continued to massage Gelias until the elfling almost fell asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. This position was the most comfortable Maeral could sit in without feeling pain at his side, where he usually was tormented on a daily basis. This… constant, controlled peace felt like sheer bliss for the highly-strung servant. Maeral supposed Legolas and his duties could wait. The Prince would find his way out of the Woodland Realm eventually with bow and arrow at his back.

Maeral kissed the top of Gelias’s head and held him for hours, allowing him deep sleep.


End file.
